


Equity

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-08
Updated: 2006-09-08
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Fred susses out Hermione after the events in ‘Rambling’





	Equity

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and all characters, places, et al within are property of JK Rowling.  No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.  This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Notes: I was very surprised at the response I received from ‘Rambling’ and the requests for a sequel.  So here is the second part and I hope to end it with a third installment.  As ever, thanks to my beta and extraordinary crafter of words, Thevina.  All mistakes are my own.  
  


* * *

Hermione lay absolutely still under the bed, ears trained on the sound of Fred walking through her flat.   

 

“Hermione?  Where are you?” he called.

 

“ _Pleasedon’tlethimfindme_ ,” she whispered to herself, turning it into a mantra as the footsteps drew ever closer.  The Quick Quotes Quill scribbled furiously beside her and she batted at it in panic, afraid the scritch-scratching of it would give her location away.  The beat of her heart echoed loudly in her ears as Fred’s voice sounded at her doorway.

 

“Hermione?  Are you in the loo?  You know, it’s not safe to leave your door unlocked like that.  Anyone could come in.”

 

_Yes, they could and they have, so please lock up and go away!_  she thought to herself.  She closed her eyes tightly, wishing for invisibility and mouthing her earlier chant as the man who topped her ‘last person she wanted to see’ list approached the bed.

 

“Hermione, I know you’re under the bed.  I can see your foot.  Come on out and talk to me,” Fred said, sounding exasperated.

 

Damn.  Apparently the gods weren’t in the mood to answer pleas from drunken witches.  Still, she waited a few moments longer.  Perhaps he would think she was asleep.

 

Wrong again.  Fred’s foot began tapping an irritated tattoo on the floor. “Now, Hermione, or I’ll drag you out.”

 

The thought of him touching her, even to haul her out from her dusty hideaway, was enough to percolate her hormones and bring a wave of warmth up her neck and into her cheeks.  She gave a second’s thought to staying put and letting him put his hands on her, then decided it probably wasn’t the wisest course.  Even though she was sure he enjoyed his impromptu fondling session earlier (as well as any other male who witnessed it, aside from Ron), he might not want a repeat performance.  So she scuttled out from beneath the mattress and practically leapt to her feet, wobbling on the landing.

 

Fred was wearing a look of amusement tinged with slight annoyance.  He also looked confident and unrumpled, a far cry from how she felt and the way she was sure she looked.  Nervously, she smoothed her hair and brushed down her skirt.  She thrust out her chin in a show of bravado even as she wondered about the possibilities of rabid dust bunnies hiding in her curls.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked coolly.

 

“I came to see if you were okay.  That was quite a scene between you and Ron.”

 

“I can handle Ron.  I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself,” she sniffed.

 

“Yeah, I can see how well you managed to ward your door before you crawled into a hole.  Literally,” Fred smirked.  “I didn’t think burying your head in the sand was your style.”

 

“I’m not avoiding anything!” Hermione fumed

 

“Oh really?  Then why didn’t you answer your door?  Or me when I called for you?  You had me worried something had happened to you and the whole time you’re taking cover in here!” he countered.

 

Hermione’s shoulders slumped.  She couldn’t refute the truth of what he was saying and she had run out of convenient hiding places.  His big brother concern for her only made her feel worse.  She was sure he was here to tease or berate her, or even worse, try to patch things up between her and Ron.  

 

“What do you want, Fred?” she asked, defeated. 

 

There was a pause before he answered.

 

“The question is, what do _you_ want?”

 

“What?” she spluttered, surprised at the question.  She expected him to tell her how stupid she had acted tonight, or to forgive his brother for being equally dense.  

 

“I said,” Fred replied, stepping closer so that she had to look up into his face, “what do _you_ want?”

 

“Why does it matter?”

 

“Because obviously you’re not getting what you want.  That’s why you rowed with Ron and snogged me sober.” 

 

He was far too close for her comfort level, both physically and emotionally.  She would never have guessed that he would be so intuitive when it came to her, or that he would even care enough to try.  She took a step backwards and held up both hands to ward him off.

 

“I really don’t want to talk about this now,” she demurred, looking anywhere but at him.

 

“We need to talk about this.  You can’t run away from it.”

 

“I’m not running.  We can discuss this tomorrow, or the next day, Fred.  It’s late and it’s been a rather long evening….”

 

Fred grasped her by her upper arms, halting her movement away from him.  “No, we are hashing this out tonight.  By tomorrow you’ll think up another excuse not to talk to me, and I’m not waiting that long.”

 

“Fine!  But we are not doing it in my bedroom!” she seethed through gritted teeth.

 

He released her, and with a gesture indicated for her to lead the way.  Hermione stomped out of the room and down the hallway to the kitchen.  She took the kettle from the stove to the sink and began filling it with water.  After it was full, she turned the tap off and walked back to the stove.  Water sloshed out of the pot and only then did she realize her hands were shaking.  Furious with herself for getting so flustered, she slammed the teapot down onto the stove.

 

“Why don’t you let me do that before you hurt yourself?” Fred suggested.  He pushed her gently out of the way by her shoulders and proceeded to light the burner.  Hermione huffed and plopped herself down at the kitchen table.

 

Annoyance was good.  Anger would be better, she decided.  It would help her focus her muddled thoughts and keep her from feeling this attraction to Fred.  Perhaps it would prevent her from making a further fool of herself.  It would be an added bonus if the fire of her temper would kill the blasted butterflies that were doing formation flights in her stomach.

 

A few minutes later and the source of her consternation was sitting at the table and offering her a cup of tea.  He was even smiling, which brought out the dimple in his left cheek that she found endearing.  She hastily brought her mug to her lips and took a sip.

 

“Now, I want to know why you felt me up tonight,” Fred declared.

 

Hermione promptly spluttered and coughed.  She put her cup down and wiped at her mouth.  When she had calmed down, or could breathe at least, she responded.

 

“Fred, I was drunk….”she began.  Fred shook his head and cut her off with a wave of his hand.

 

“That’s not good enough.  You were tipsy, yes, but not so far gone you didn’t know what you were about.  And it doesn’t explain why you chose me.  Why not George or Harry?”

 

“I don’t know why I did it.  I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time.   Ron had just called me frigid and….”

 

“And?”

 

“And I didn’t want anyone to think I was.  I wanted to feel like a woman.  Is that stupid?”

 

“No, it’s not stupid.  And I can assure you, you felt very much like a woman,” Fred assured her with a wink.

 

Hermione felt herself redden.  The butterflies had formed squadrons and were now flying fighter jets.

 

“So, why not George, then?”

 

“Er, I’m not as comfortable with him.”

 

“As you are with me, you mean?  Why’s that?” he prodded.

 

“Well…that is…oh dammit, I like you!” she burst out, then groaned and laid her head against the table top.

 

“You like me, eh?  Is it because I’m charming, amusing and highly intelligent?”

 

“Don’t you think that’s enough questions?  Haven’t I embarrassed myself enough this evening?” Hermione whinged, her voice muffled through both the wood tabletop and her hair.

 

“I just want to know why I’m so special that I was rewarded with a singularly scintillating spectacle tonight.  Try saying that five times fast.”

 

She sat up.  He sounded entirely too amused and it was all at her expense.  All she needed now was for him to laugh at her condescendingly and pat her head like the silly little girl she was sure he thought she was.  

 

“Look, I know you don’t think of me in that way.  If anything, I’m like a little sister.”

 

“Sister?  Are you mental?” barked Fred, then he began to roar with laughter.  “Hermione, if Ginny ever sits on my lap, she won’t be getting the reaction you got tonight.”

 

“Maybe sister wasn’t the right word.  In any case, any woman who decided you had a nice arse and chose to act on it like I did would have garnered the same response.”  

 

It took a moment for her own words to filter in and when she realized what she had said she clasped a hand over her mouth to both stifle the squeak she was making and any further unfortunate things that happened to fall out.  Apparently the liquor still in her system had affected the connection between her mouth and her brain, causing it to disengage.

 

“So, you think I have a nice arse and you like me, hmm?  Anything else you’d like to share with the class, Miss Granger?”

 

“No, I think I‘ve incriminated myself enough, thank you.”

 

“Then I guess it’s my turn.”

 

Fred scooted his chair around until he was next to her.  He turned her around so she was facing him and took both of her hands in his.

 

“I’ve got a secret to confess, Hermione.  I’ve fancied you for awhile.  I held back because I thought you were Ron’s girl.  At least that’s what he told me every time I saw him.  It was always Hermione this and Hermione that.  I would’ve saved myself a lot of aggravation and jealousy if I had just asked you instead of listening to my ickle brother.  You’re not Ron’s girl now, are you?”

 

“No, not for some time,” she murmured.

 

“And what happened tonight wasn’t to get back at him, was it?  Even if we both enjoyed the look on his face.”

 

“Not really, no,” Hermione replied, smiling at the memory.  Fred chuckled.

 

“And you didn’t pick me because you can’t tell George and me apart?”

 

She only rolled her eyes in response.  That was ridiculous; she had almost always been able to know who was who, even when their mother couldn’t.

 

“It happened because you fancy me and you had enough liquid courage to do something about it.  Is that right?”

 

“I suppose that’s an accurate summation.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

They had been leaning closer and closer to each other with every exchange, until their knees were bumping together and were almost forehead to forehead.  Fred released her hands and cupped her face in his warm palms.  He smiled, not the teasing smile she was used to but something gentler and sweeter.

 

“I’m glad,” he repeated, before leaning down to kiss her.

 

It started out soft, his lips brushing against hers, allowing her to experience their texture as she hadn’t during their first kiss.  His tongue nudged against the corner of her mouth and she opened it without hesitation, allowing it to sweep in and tangle with her own.  He tasted of fire whiskey; his teeth, tongue and lips were coaxing, teasing and utterly Fred.  She inanely remembered all the times Molly complained about ‘the mouth on him’ and knew that she herself would never find fault with it as long as he kept using it like this.

 

Before she knew it she was in Fred’s lap again, an echo of their earlier embrace, with her legs wrapped around his waist and his hardness thrusting between them.  His hands were under her skirt and over her knickers, squeezing her bottom and holding her to him.  She moaned delightedly into their kiss.  At the sound, Fred released her lips.  He tangled his hands in her hair and looked down at her with an intensity that held her spellbound.

 

“The next time we do this, there won’t be any alcohol in our systems.  I don’t want our senses dulled in any way,” he ground out.

 

“When I kiss you, I don’t want to taste whiskey.  I want to taste you alone.  I don’t want to smell perfume or smoke from the pub; I want to smell you wanting me.”  He buried his face in her hair, then slid his hands stroke up and down her back.

 

“I don’t want to hear my idiot brother or anyone else in the background.  I want to hear you, moaning when I do something right and crying out when I do it even better.  I want to touch you, without anything between us.”

 

He lifted her from his lap and placed her back in her own chair.  She felt confused.  If he wanted to do these things so badly why didn’t he just get on with it? He gave her a knowing smile and lifted one of her hands to his lips.

 

“When you touch me, I don’t want you to do it because you’ve had a bottle of bravery.  I want you to touch me because you want to and need to, on your own.  You’ll let me know when you’re ready.  Goodnight, Hermione.”

 

With that, Fred stood, kissed her on the forehead and left her staring dully at his departing back before the front door shut him out of sight.  

 

Hermione sat there for several minutes before she came out of her stupor and assessed the situation.  Her knickers were damp once again, but she felt unfulfilled now rather than mortified as Fred’s honeyed words kept ringing in her ears.  Aroused, uncomfortable and feeling a headache coming on, she rose from her seat and began cursing the second Weasley this evening.  She wearily made her way to bed, deciding it would be better to crawl on top rather than under.

 

As she pulled back the covers, she made a fervent prayer that tomorrow Molly would not ask how her weekend had gone.


End file.
